


Wheel of Westeros Book One: Rise of Jon

by annmcbee



Series: Wheel of Westeros [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 03:43:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20057473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annmcbee/pseuds/annmcbee
Summary: In this chapter of Wheel of Westeros, a young princess befriends a direwolf who is not what he seems, a queen finds herself in the hands of an enemy, and a young king begins his reign...





	Wheel of Westeros Book One: Rise of Jon

_Disclaimer:_

_This fan fiction is meant neither to be a continuation of George R. R. Martin’s _A Song of Ice and_ Fire series, nor a revision of seasons 6-8 of the HBO series, _Game of Thrones_. It is meant to stand alone, independent of those works, and can be read alone by those who have not seen the TV series or read the books. Having said that, this work will borrow from not only _Game of Thrones_ and _A Song of Ice and Fire, _but from multiple other works of film, television, music and literature. Please see footnotes for references, and feel free to point out any I’ve forgotten._

Chapter 1: Ghost (Jon)

“Ghost,” Jon whispered.

Then he was in his own chambers. Prickly hackles rose along his spine, and a growl rose from deep within his throat. He paced back and forth, his jaw running with angry slaver. A half dozen times he rammed into the door with his huge forepaws in fruitless hopes of breaking it down. _Bark. Howl. Now!_ But no sound would come. _Why will I not howl? Why? Just one howl!_ He fought the instinct to dig his way out, for the effort would only wear down his claws, and he would need them. Sure enough… panicked voices and footsteps outside. He backed himself into a dark corner and crouched. _Let them come. They may fill me with arrows, but this time I will be ready. I will rip them to pieces and drink their blood before I die._ He heard the _thunk_ of an axe over and over. Then it stopped. Then screams…he recognized the voice of Othell Yarwyck and Lew. Then the sound of a body being stomped and ripped apart by a giant. (He only just heard the same sound when the Queen’s knight Sir Patrek attempted to steal Val, the wildling “princess” away from her chambers in Castle Black.) More shouting. Then after a brief silence, he heard the turning of the lock. Then the door opened, just a crack, and he got ready to spring.

“Ghost?” It was the voice of Edd Tollet. “It’s all right boy.”

Of course it wasn’t all right. His own men had turned their daggers on him. Bowen Marsh, Wick Whittlestick, Othell Yarwyck and maybe others, like Left Hand Lew whom he’d just heard. He had tried to make allies of the Night’s Watch and the Freefolk…called also the Wildlings. He had brought The Watch’s sworn enemies over the Wall to Castle Black and other posts, after the Night’s Watch had been protecting the realm from the savages beyond the Wall for centuries. King Stannis, hoping to gain allies in the war for his crown, had obtained their surrender. Jon meant to put them to use at the highly undermanned Watch, and in the process save them from a more terrible foe. The army of the dead and the White Walkers were their new enemies, and they needed the Wildlings to fight them, or else the Freefolk would only become part of their army in the form of undead wights. But some of his brothers didn’t understand that. Was Edd, his steward, among their number?

Jon/Ghost sniffed the air. No. Edd was not. The door opened just a bit more, and one of Edd’s brown eyes peered through it. Jon/Ghost could smell Satin, a new recruit, behind him, and behind that, Tormund. Tormund Giantsbane, a captain of the Freefolk, had now joined the Watch and was about the lead a ranging to Hard Home, a Freefolk camp far north, where the dead had been reported a threat. Jon/Ghost could smell blood on both Satin and Tormund, but it was not Jon’s blood. They had fought for him. Jon/Ghost stood up and stepped slowly out of the dark. He tucked his tail to show submission. This prompted Edd to slowly open the door.

“Come on out Ghost…you’re safe with us…”

But there was no safety here. True, Jon was guilty of forswearing his vows as a Night’s Watchman. He had planned an ambush on his former home of Winterfell, where Ramsay Snow, son of Roose Bolton, new Warden of the North, had married his little sister Arya. He had boasted in a letter that he had killed King Stannis, and captured Mance Rayder, King of the Freefolk. It would be the opinion of the men that such matters were not of concern for the Night’s Watch. But Ramsay had threatened his life, and the life of the Queen and her daughter. He had threatened Val, Mance Rayder’s sister-in-law, and his babe. Furthermore, he was a danger to the North. His father had taken the North by betraying Jon’s own brother Robb Stark, after the Starks had ruled for centuries in peace and harmony. As long as the Boltons held the North, the North would be divided and in turmoil. Finally, his sister Arya had escaped this Bolton bastard…certainly not because he was a loving husband. Rumor had it he was a monster. He had bragged in the letter of making a cloak for Mance from the skins of his riding party.

There was a faint shouting in the yard. Wun Wun, the giant who had accompanied the Freefolk among others of his kind when they surrendered, was wailing. And was there a woman’s scream? Jon/Ghost gave a warning snarl. Edd’s eyes grew big and stepped back… just enough. Then Jon/Ghost leapt into the air and bounded out and past the men.

Edd called after him, “Ghost! We need you boy!”

But he was gone.

Chapter 2: Shireen

Shireen ran into the cold night, tears freezing on her cheeks. _It can’t be true! I won’t believe it!_ She could hear her fool Patchface singing after her, _are you on the square? Are you on the level? Are you ready to swear right here right now before the devil**[1]**_…but she soon left him far behind.

The first horrible thing was that Ser Patrek, one of her mother’s knights, was ripped apart by a giant. Oh the terrible sound it made! Shireen was never too fond of Ser Patrek, but she never would have wanted something like that to befall him. Then, and almost at the same time, the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, Jon Snow, was stabbed to death by some of the other men of the Watch. Now the wild men called the Freefolk and some of the Night’s Watchmen with their black cloaks, were fighting some other black-cloaked men and some of her mother’s knights. The knights blamed Lord Snow for what happened to Ser Patrek. Her mother, Queen Selyse, thought they could use a more prudent Lord Commander in the first place. Jon Snow was a bastard, and _bastards are born troublemakers_, mother had said. Shireen and mother locked themselves in their chambers, waiting for what might happen next. It was the longest time before Melisandre finally came.

Lady Melisandre was a red priestess of R’hillor, or the Lord of Light, who was the new god that her father, King Stannis, and her mother followed. She said that father was the reincarnation of an ancient hero of legend, born again to save the world from the darkness. She said there was a prophecy, and she had seen father fighting in the flames. Father was the rightful king of Westeros, being the only living brother of King Robert, who had died. Robert’s children with Queen Cersei of the Lannisters didn’t count, because they weren’t Robert’s babies… including the boy king Tommen. It took a while for Shireen to get the whole story, but it was said that Cersei’s children were fathered by her own brother, Jaime Lannister. That was shocking (although Shireen had played with one of Robert’s bastard sons, her own cousin Edric, and that wasn’t _too awful_ to think. Still, cousins are not brother and sister). Anyway, if that was true, then father was the rightful king after all. But Melisandre did not have happy news about father.

She came in with her head down, and her hands folded in front of her. The red priestess was very beautiful, with dark red hair and red eyes and red lips. She always wore a flowing crimson gown that showed her bosom and a necklace like a collar with a giant ruby at the throat. She usually looked proud and confident, but now she looked defeated.

“The Lord Commander received a letter before his murder. The contents are the cause of this conflict I’m afraid…” Her voice was quieter than usual. Then she explained what the letter said. Father was dead. Killed at Winterfell by the son of the new Warden of the North. Shireen found it hard to breathe. She felt a stabbing pain in her chest and wondered if this was how Lord Snow had felt.

“Nonsense,” mother said. “I don’t believe a word of it. It’s just a trick to draw the Lord Commander out…just as well. The fool would have gone there and gotten himself killed if he hadn’t done so here…”

Melisandre was shaking her head. “I didn’t believe it myself my queen, but…” For the first time ever as far as Shireen knew, she seemed nervous and had tears in her eyes. “I looked into the flames…and I saw death…”

“No!” Shireen shrieked. Patchface the fool had been cowering in the corner, and now covered his face with his hands.

“Lies!” Mother picked up a pitcher and threw it at Melisandre’s head. It missed by a mile and broke into shards against the wall. She pulled her own hair and screamed. “Stannis is the prince who was promised! He is the Lord of Light’s chosen! You swore it!”

Shireen couldn’t bear her mother’s shrieking. She couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing her father again. The letter was just a lie, like mother said. It just couldn’t be true. She stood up and scowled at Melisandre.

“You wretched evil witch!” Shireen shouted at her.

Then she shoved the red priestess out of her way, swung open the door, and ran out.

“Princess, come back…” Melisandre called. Patchface trundled out into the snow too, but didn’t follow for long. His voice grew faint behind her..._no matter which way you go, no matter which way you stay, you’re out of my mind, out of my mind**[2]**_…Lord Snow’s companion Ghost, a giant direwolf the size of a pony, had run off and was loose somewhere at Castle Black. He had been as tame as a direwolf could be when Lord Snow was alive, but after what had happened to him, he would probably tear apart anybody who came near. Now Shireen was running around loose as well. Her mother’s knights would go looking for her soon enough. But if father was dead, and the Lord Commander was dead, then anything could happen to them now.

Shireen wondered how much a wolf mauling would hurt. She had read about such things in books, and it always sounded terrible. The truth was, she felt sometimes that mother and father were better off without her anyway. When she was born, she’d gotten greyscale, a disease that turned people to stone and made them go mad. It was usually incurable, but they somehow managed to stop its spreading, and Shireen had lived. But half of her face and part of her neck was hard, scaly and grey, and would always be that way. At least it had shrunk. When she was a babe, mother told her, it covered her whole face and went to her chest. Mother had always wanted more children, but never had any that lived past a few months. Shireen could tell it made her sad to have only one child, worse a daughter, and worse still deformed. She couldn’t help but feel mother and father were ashamed of her.

Soon, the real cold hit Shireen. If she stayed outside, she would freeze to death. But she had run so much that she didn’t quite know how to get back. She could find some shelter at least while she waited for mother’s knights to find her…but all she could see was a set of steps leading to a tower. She ran to the lowest landing and ducked under it. It was a little warmer there and out of the snow, but a little stinky, like rot. At least it was quiet, and she could think for a moment. If the letter was true, that meant all the things Melisandre had been telling them about father weren’t true. That what she saw in the flames was a lie. But if that’s true, maybe what she saw in the flames about death wasn’t true. Maybe the Bolton bastard hadn’t killed him and it was a trick like mother said. The only one who would have gone to find out was Lord Snow, and now he was gone. They had started to burn his body in a pit they dug, but some of the other black-cloaked brothers who were his friends stopped it. They wanted him to have proper rites, and a real pyre. So they took his charred body and put it in his chambers after Ghost ran away.

Suddenly, Shireen heard breathing. Not human breathing. It was guttural and came with snorts and licking sounds. Then there was a very low growling. Shireen backed up, and a shaft of moonlight fell in front of her. The direwolf Ghost walked into it, head lowered. He was all white, as white as snow. He stood almost as tall as Shireen. The hair on his neck stood out so that he looked twice as big. He bared his fangs, and Shireen said a prayer.

Chapter 3: Daenerys

A chewy chunk of horsemeat was caught in Dany’s throat. Suddenly she could not swallow. Khal Jhaqo and about fifty of his mounted warriors had surrounded her, and for a moment, Dany thought they would surely rape her then and there. Certainly Jhaqo would be so vile…it was this same traitorous monster who turned against her late husband Khal Drogo once he had become too ill to ride. Then he stole, raped and murdered a girl she had been protecting. _Eroeh…that was her name,_ Dany remembered. Thankfully, she wouldn’t be meeting a similar fate just yet. She happened to be sharing a meal of dragonfire-roasted horse with Drogon, a dragon the size of a small wayn, and the closest thing she would ever have to her own child. A Dothraki horse lord was brave, but not so idiotic as to challenge a dragon. It occurred to her that the horse probably belonged to the Dothraki. _Here I am devouring a stolen horse as I am ambushed by horse lords…how appropriate,_ Dany thought. She laughed out loud in spite of herself.

Jhaqo didn’t recognize her of course. He jumped off his horse with caution, but approached her with malice and lust in his copper eyes. He wore leather breeches and a vest of skins cinched by a belt of shiny gold. His eyes were lined with black grease, the way many Dothraki did it, to make them look fierce. His braid had gotten very long indeed – a sign that a Dothraki khal has won many battles. But he was also a lot fatter than Dany remembered, which suggested it was more likely his bloodriders who won his battles for him. 

“Stay away from me! Don’t touch me!” Dany protested also in Dothraki.

Drogon reared up and spread his wings, making himself larger. He roared, and a plume of fire burst forth from his throat. Jhaqo jumped back as many of his riders struggled to control their panicky mounts. The cruel khal looked surprised that she could speak his language, and he kept moving toward her, studying her face.

“Stay back, or my dragon will burn you alive!”

Dany tried to sound fierce and strong, though she realized she didn’t look like anything to be afraid of. She had been wandering for days after flying away from the fighting pit in Mereen on Drogon’s back. She hadn’t known at the time whether Drogon would accept her, and indeed, he had breathed fire at her before she was able to bring him under control with the help of a whip and her voice. The fire had burnt off her hair and most of her clothing. Only a few strips of silken cloth remained to hide her nakedness.

“Who are you?” Jhaqo demanded. “I know you!” His eyes were on Drogon.

Dany tried to regain her voice, though she had made the mistake of eating some berries that made her horribly sick, and she was weak. Still, she stood as tall as she could, and in Dothraki said, “I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Queen of Mereen…” She was queen of something else too…what was it? Why couldn’t she remember? “A khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea. Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons…the Unburnt…”

Another rider cut her off. It was Mago…another traitor who had taken Eroeh. Dany remembered swearing that both of these men would die screaming. “I know this one too, my Khal. She is the widow of Khal Drogo. The white-haired bitch who let a witch murder him.”

Jhaqo nodded in recognition. “But her long silver hair is gone. And a fearsome beast guards her. The eggs hatched, khaleesi, so? What about the other two?”

At her wedding to Drogo, a great khal to whom she had been sold by her brother in exchange for an army, she had been given the gift of three petrified dragon eggs. When Drogo died of a minor wound, having been poisoned by the sorceress that Dany hoped would heal him, she burned them in a pyre along with his body, and they had hatched. But Jhaqo and Mago had abandoned him before that. They did not see the birth of her three dragons: Drogon, Rheagal, and Viserion. They did not see her walk into the pyre herself and emerge the next day unburned, either. They were not there to see her conquer Astapor, Yunkai and Mereen, great ancient cities of Essos. They did not see her free the slaves of those cities and brutally slay their masters. To them, she was just a young, naked and bald widow lost in the wilderness, resorting to eating the leavings of her ferocious pet.

“Leave me, or you will find out about the other two,” Dany said. But her voice cracked, and as soon as she spoke, Drogon spread his wings and flew high into the sky.

“It looks like your monster will be the one to leave. Before he returns, perhaps our khal will fuck you to make amends for the horse you have stolen!” Mago said.

Jhaqo held up his hand, his eyes aimed to the sky where Drogon flew in circles above them. “There is only one place for the widow of a khal,” he said. “The Dosh Khaleen in Vaes Dothrak.”

He snapped his fingers, and one of his riders brought a length of rope.

“Don’t touch me!” Dany protested as the rider seized her hands and commenced to tying them together. As she fought, Jhaqo walked over and took her by the back of the neck.

“Khaleesi…think. You are lost. You are far from any city. You will starve before the monster feeds you again. You are sick – I can smell it. You will die unless you come with us. If the Great Stallion is with you, you will live out your days with the widows in the temple of the Dosh Khaleen. But you must stand before the Khalar Vezhven first, and answer for your actions.”

“What actions?” _The Great Stallion should trample you and lay flops on your corpse._

“Every khaleesi becomes Dosh Khaleen. Yes, immediately after the death of their khal. But you went out into the world. That is forbidden. All the khalasars are returning now to the Khalar Vezhven. They will decide which cities will be sacked and what tribes will be enslaved. And now they must decide what to do with Khal Drogo’s silver-haired widow.[3]I have an idea of what we should do with her, as you will soon see.”

He laughed. Dany looked to the sky. Drogon seemed very, very far away.

Chapter 4: Shireen

Shireen closed her eyes, praying to whichever gods might hear: the Lord of Light, The Seven, even the Old Gods…this was the North after all. But instead of lunging and ripping her throat out, Ghost only sniffed her. She opened her eyes to see that he was no longer growling, just staring at her with almost human-like consternation, as if to say, _what are you doing out here in the cold, little girl?_ He was actually very beautiful. She reached out to touch the fur on his neck. It was thick and bristly, but silky soft underneath. Her fingers got lost in it. He was warm, too. His eyes were supposed to be as red as Melisandre’s, but they weren’t. They were dark grey like storm clouds. He whined at her softly.

“Poor sweet wolf,” Shireen said. “You lost your master.” She had to stand on tiptoe to pet his enormous ears. They were as soft as velvet. “I lost my daddy, too.”

The moment she said it, she knew it to be true. She hanged her head and began to sob. Ghost bent down and nuzzled her temple. She lifted her head and petted the soft fur on Ghost’s breast as he licked her tears away.

“Stay still Princess…”

It was Ser Axell, the queen’s main man, an arrow nocked in his bow and pointed at Ghost. He was trying to protect her. Shireen saw him draw and quickly threw her arms around the wolf’s gigantic neck.

“Don’t! It’s all right…he isn’t hurting me!”

But Ghost wasn’t as warm toward Ser Axell as he had been to her. His hair stood up on his back and there was the beginning of a growl in his chest. Lord Snow’s steward, Edd Tollett, ran up and pushed Ser Axell out of the way. Tormund the Wildling was with him.

“Ghost! Come on boy…come to me now…” Edd said, slapping his thigh.

Ghost was cautious, and his fangs showed under his furry lips, but he walked over to Edd slowly. Edd had been a good friend to the Lord Commander, but he seemed surprised that Ghost had been so gentle with Shireen. Many of the Watchmen had noted when Ghost went missing that he had been in a foul temper that night, as if he’d known his master was in danger.

Out of nowhere, Lady Melisandre appeared. She never wore a cloak or a coat of fur, even at the Wall where it was so very cold. Yet she was always warm. What was she doing there?

“Come princess,” she said, holding out her hand. “Your mother is sorely worried.”

Ser Axell looked at the wolf with suspicion, but put away his bow. He turned to Edd. “Lock that beast up,” he said. “Or better yet, cut it loose. Open the gate and send it on its way!”

Ghost let out a sharp bark then, followed by another, as if agreeing with Ser Axell. Edd really looked surprised then. His brow wrinkled in confusion.

“As long as I’ve known this wolf, he’s never once made a single bloody sound. Now he barks? He’ll be shitting gold dragons next. It’s a good thing. We could use more gold,” he said.

Ghost barked again. Tormund and Edd looked at each other.

“Wasn’t the wolf’s eyes red?” Tormund asked, pointing.

Edd put his hands on both sides of Ghost’s neck and peered into his face. “I’ll be dipped in horse shit…”

Melisandre approached Ghost then, and looked into his eyes as well, her hand on his furry shoulder. After a moment, she said, “Weep not, Dolorous Edd and Tormund Giantsbane. Your Lord Commander lives…”

Edd and Tormund just looked mystified. Then something seemed to dawn on Tormund. He scratched his bushy red beard. “He _was_ a warg…a skinchanger, was he not?”  
A warg was a person whose mind and soul could go into animals, like birds or wolves or other creatures. Shireen had been taught that it was just Northern legend, but the Wildlings said it was real, and many of their own could do it. Lord Snow, some of the men said, was a lot like a Wildling himself. A lot of them didn’t like him for that, but Shireen thought that was unfair. It was like her being hated just because of the greyscale on her face.

“Enough of this,” Ser Axell huffed. “Put the beast away or put it out.” He took Shireen’s hand and pulled her away. Melisandre followed them to mother’s chambers.

When they arrived, mother ran to her, slapped her face so hard her ears rung, then pulled her to her body and squeezed her tighter than she ever had[4].

“My sweet child don’t ever leave me,” she sobbed.

Mother wasn’t one for expressing affection, especially hugging, but she wasn’t acting much like herself at all. Her braids had come all undone, and there were red bags under her eyes. When she finally let Shireen go, she whisked her to her bed and demanded she go to sleep. That night, Shireen dreamt about the wolf, that her pillow was his furry belly. Bad men came to hurt her, but the wolf scared them away.

Chapter 5: Young Griff (Aegon)

“You can call me Griff…”

Aegon Targaryen, sixth of his name, stood before the vanquished knights and soldiers of Storm’s End along with their lords. His blood-splashed armor shone black in the ochre evening sun, the red sigil of the three-headed dragon gleaming brightly on his chest. The army stationed there by Stannis Baratheon had fought well, but having been besieged by the Tyrell army in defense of the current king, 8-year-old Tommen Baratheon, they were unprepared to defeat the Golden Company, Aegon’s army of sellswords. Aegon, called Young Griff in his exile, and his foster father Jon Connington had sailed from Essos weeks earlier, bringing thousands of swords and numerous elephants as well – Stannis’s men hadn’t been prepared for that. Storm’s End, the Baratheon stronghold, was nearly impregnable. But the Tyrell army of Highgarden in the West had already broken much of their defenses before abandoning the siege to attend the trial of Margaery Tyrell, Tommen’s queen. While Tommen’s rule fell into chaos, the kingdoms were vulnerable, and though Jon and Captain Harry Strickland of the Golden Company had wanted to delay, Aegon chose instead to attack…and he had won.

“You will have heard the son of Prince Rheagar of House Targaryen was murdered by order of the late Lord Tywin Lannister. But the innocent babe slaughtered by the monster Gregor Clegane after the sack of King’s Landing was a nameless orphan, traded to my mother while my protectors bore me across the Narrow Sea to Essos.”

Young Griff took off his helm then, and revealed his head of silvery hair and his bluish-purple eyes that glittered like jewels. For his entire youth, he had dyed his hair blue to hide his identity, but before marching to Storm’s End, his Septa Lemore had helped him wash the dye out. Some streaks of blue still remained in his locks, which stood up on end like a feathery crown, but the sight still induced gasps and murmurs from the group assembled before him.

“I am your rightful king,” Griff continued. “Though I expect the Lannisters and their followers will call me a pretender, as will Lord Stannis. But I ask you now to consider what kind of king is this boy Tommen, who rules from under the skirts of his disgraced mother, Cersei Lannister. The same woman who has dragged this country into ruin. You know this country has suffered under her rule, whether or not you believe her children are legitimate. That is why you chose to make Stannis your king, and rightly so.”

Next to Griff stood the captain of his Kingsguard, Ser Rolly Duckfield, Captain Strickland, and Lord Jon. Lord Jon gazed at him proudly. He had doubted the lad, believing guile to be a wiser strategy. But Griff had fought more bravely and valiantly than he had ever dreamed. Griff was not his son, only the son of his beloved friend, but he would have been proud beyond imagining to call him so that day. Duck looked even more proud. His red hair stood on end like Griff’s.

“Stannis acted as he thought right. As he thought was his duty,” Griff went on. “But he is on the verge of utter defeat. You know this to be true. But Stannis did not know the true king lived. For this reason, if Stannis or any of his men surrender willingly to me, I promise to show mercy. I am not here to murder you or your families and take your lands. I am here to restore the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros to their former glory.”

Already, Griff and Jon and their men had taken back Griffin’s Roost, the castle belonging to Jon’s family. Ser Ronnett Connington, knight of the Roost, had declared for the Lannisters and was away at King’s Landing. Griff had taken his bastard boy Ronald Storm as a hostage along with his sister Alynne. His brother Raymund was in the dungeon, but Griff had sworn to be merciful, as he was family to his foster father, like it or not. But Griff knew that ruling meant he would have to hang men, or take their heads, just as he knew it meant killing and taking wounds in battle. In fact, he had suffered a minor wound near the armpit that seeped blood as he spoke. His face bled, too, under the eye, and he would surely find some deep bruises when he removed his armor and clothes to bathe later.

“Join me,” he continued. “…and I will not only pardon you, but grant you a place by my side where you will know victory, honor, and glory. Bend the knee, Lords of the Stormlands, and return to your wives and children alive. Refuse, and you leave me no choice but to enact the King’s justice. You will be executed, and your wives and children taken as hostages. The choice is yours…”

There was a moment of silent tension, followed by the clanking of shields and armor as man after man took a knee before him. _It won’t always be so easy,_ thought Griff. The Tyrell and Lannister armies would present a challenge. But even so, the thought of facing them made him smile. _Now my reign begins…_

Chapter 6: Shireen

Shireen awoke early, but stayed abed, listening to hushed voices through the curtain. It was Ser Devan Seaworth, father’s squire who had stayed behind when he went to Winterfell, and Lady Melisandre. They were talking about the Lord Commander… that much she could gather. Lady Melisandre had once told Shireen that there was no seven heavens and seven hells like it said in the _Seven-Pointed Star._ _There is only one hell, Princess…the one we live in now_, she had told her[5]. Shireen hoped there was at least one heaven, and that father was there.

Their voices seemed to get louder suddenly…they were arguing. Shireen got as close to the crack in the curtain as she could. A knock came at the door, and someone came in, but it wasn’t Ser Axell or any other of mother’s men. It was Edd the steward. He didn’t seem interested in keeping his voice down either.

“Everything I believed, the great victory you said you saw in the flames, all of it was a lie,” mother was saying, still in tears. “Your father Davos was right all along, Ser Devan. The lord never spoke to this red witch…”

Davos Seaworth was father’s hand, and he didn’t follow the red god or believe in Melisandre’s powers. They called him the Onion Knight. He had gone on a mission to White Harbor down south, but he hadn’t been heard from, and they worried he’d been captured and killed. That was sad, because Shireen really liked the Onion Knight.

Edd Tollett said, “Fuck him, then. Fuck all of them. Seven gods, drowned gods, tree gods, it's all the same. I'm not asking the lord of light for help, red lady. I'm asking you. Your red priests have brought folks back I heard…why not you?”

“She is a false prophet. A whore who seduced my husband on the pretense of lies!”

“My Queen, I never…”

Devan’s voice was calmer. He had a low, soothing voice like his father. “Lady Melisandre, Lord Snow’s death complicates our purpose here. King Stannis saw something in him, but more importantly, I fear for our position here without him. Whoever did this, for whatever reason, they are no friend to us…”

“I don’t know the fucking reasons all I know is he was my friend, and they butchered him! And now I got a thousand Freefolk about to be butchered too, and I can’t do shit about it. Jon had a plan…I’m not one for planning or protecting Wildlings on my own!” Edd said. It sounded like he might cry too.

“The Lord Commander’s body is naught but ashes and bones,” Devan said. “None have been brought back from such a state. But…if you did, it would prove to us that the Lord of Light has not abandoned you.”

Shireen could hear mother’s voice, weak and wobbly. “Get out. Leave me. All of you.”

“My Queen, please…” Melisandre said.

“OUT!”

They all left. Then all Shireen could hear was the lonely sound of her mother’s weeping.

The morning of the following day, Shireen woke up alone. Mother was gone, and it was a long time since she should have broken her fast. Patchface was singing a song to get her out of bed. _I could sleep…I could slee-eep…When I lived alone, is there a ghost in my house…in my hou-ouse!**[6]**_ She got up and shuffled over to the table where some cold, half-eaten bacon and bread sat going chewy. She munched on some of it and wondered where everyone had gone. Finally, and to Patchface’s loud, sing-songy objections, Shireen threw on a heavy fur cloak and a pair of fur-lined boots. Quietly, she stepped outside into the bitter cold. The morning was very dark and gloomy. The moon still hung in the sky, peeking in and out of dark clouds. Shireen saw the glow of torches and heard voices. One of the voices was mother’s. She ran toward the sound.

Mother was standing with Lady Melisandre and a group of men, including Ser Axell and Ser Narbert, Devan Seaworth, Edd Tollett, Tormund, the boy Satin and some other Night’s Watch brothers and other Wildlings, including the one called Leathers and the princess Val. They were all in a circle, looking at something on the ground. Then they turned to Melisandre, who was shaking her head.

“I have failed, but do not cry for Jon Snow,” she said sadly. “His soul resides now in the body of his direwolf…free from the suffocating vows and duties of the Night’s Watch. His only responsibilities now are to hunt, and to kill and to make pups. You should be happy for him…envy him even…I know I do.”

“Mother!” Shireen called out and ran into her mother’s arms. Mother hardly seemed to respond. Her ears were almost purple from the cold, and her nose was dripping snot, but she didn’t seem to notice.

Then Shireen saw it. On the ground before where they all stood was a huge patch of red snow. It was frozen blood – a great deal of it – and in the center of it, the black, charred body of a man. It was curled up like the bodies of mother’s other babies, who all died right after they were born and were kept in big jars at Dragonstone[7], which was father’s castle after Uncle Robert won the crown from the Targaryens who built it. The body on the ground was burned so black, it could have been any man – or a woman for that matter. The burning had shrunk the Lord Commander down. His head must have come off when they had moved the corpse, because it sat just apart from the rest. There were no hands or feet. It stank like a burned piece of pork.

“Princess! What are you doing here…you should go inside where it’s warm,” Ser Axell was saying. “Come, my Queen…Princess. Let us leave this…scene…”

The others in the group seemed to have the same thought. Slowly, they began to disperse, many of them with their heads hung sadly. Then, suddenly, the arm of the charred corpse moved ever so slightly, making a crackling sound.

“It moved!” Shireen shouted, pointing. “The body moved!”

“Don’t be silly, Princess,” Ser Axell said. “It’s the wind, that’s all.”

But others had seen and heard it too. Suddenly they all turned to the circle of blood and watched as the burned remains twitched, again and again, making a _crick-crack _sound each time. The blood in the snow became wet and shiny again, as though melting, even though the air was incredibly cold. It flowed into the corpse as though it were a giant black sponge soaking it up. The layer of black charred flesh split and burst open, and a stringy whitish ooze came from the cracks, growing and spreading like mold. A full bone – perhaps a leg bone – rose up from the mess with a squelching sound and connected itself to another twitchy bone, and that to another bone, and that to another. Finger bones crawled out of stumps and wriggled. A spinal column wormed its way to a mound of pudding that became a brain, a layer of skull freezing over it like ice. Then there was something that looked like a squirming nest of baby rabbits collecting in the middle where innards would be: brown, red, purple, yellow, grey. Long black worms grew and multiplied, swaying and pulsing until they became veins and nerves.

A chaos sprung up for the second time in two days. Some of the black-cloaked brothers looked more terrified than others. Some of these tried to run, but were halted by those who seemed more amazed than afraid. In their failed escapes, they met swords drawn and arrows aimed, and maybe were put in a headlock. But they would watch. They would see a bright red glistening sludge growing in sidewinding patterns, throbbing skeins of muscle, weaving together as if on a loom. Melisandre’s red eyes glowed. Her mouth hung open, and her bust heaved. The ruby at her throat almost looked aflame. “_He is the prince who was promised_,” she whispered, her breath making a cloud of steam in the cold.

The burned corpse was no more. In its place was what could only be the body of a man, without skin, on his hands and knees in the melted snow. Clouds on the surface of him floated and gathered and then hardened like paint on a shield, becoming his skin. His hair, once enviously long, dark and luxurious, did not reappear. Yet, before the eyes of Castle Black and the Queensguard of Queen Selyse Baratheon, he sat upright and opened his storm-cloud grey eyes. Finally, Jon Snow, Bastard of Winterfell, 998th Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, called The Black Bastard of the Wall, raised his head, and howled.[8]

[1] Ghost. “Square Hammer.” _Meliora._ Loma Vista Recordings. 2016.

[2] Tegan and Sara. “I Was Walking With a Ghost.” _So Jealous._ Sire Records. 2004.

[3] David Benioff and D.B. Weiss. _Game of Thrones_, Season 6, Episode 3: “Oathbreaker”

[4] Knauf, Daniel. _Carnivale_ Season 1, Episode 5: “Babylon”.

[5] Benioff and Weiss. _Game of Thrones_, Season 4, Episode 2: “The Lion and the Rose.”

[6] Band of Horses. “Is There a Ghost.” _Cease to Begin_. Sub Pop Records. 2007.

[7] Benioff and Weiss. _Game of Thrones_, Season 3 Episode 5: “Kissed by Fire”

[8] Barker, Clive. _Hellraiser_. 1987.


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